And it will happen again
by SniperR
Summary: Leon considers doing the unthinkable. Takes place before RE4 but after RE2. Rated M for suicide attempt, just to be safe!


And it will happen again

By: SniperR

A/N: Wow, it's been a reeeeeeeeeeealy long time since I submitted something! My muse was on break for a few months, hapilly it is now back, and I just had to write something to satisfy it xD Everything was written in the mornings before class, so please excuse the spelling mistakes!

Thoughts are in _Italic_.

Warning: Dark subjects, parental discretion advised :) (Dontcha just hate that ;D)

* * *

There was nothing on TV.

Nothing caught his eye as Leon Kennedy flicked through the channels lazily. Nothing_ would _catch his eye anyway; his mind was caught on something else.

The same thing that kept replaying itself over and over again, engulfing him as it had so many times before.

But would he do it this time? Could he do it?

Of course he could.

He had planned this so many times before, and yet he had not gotten around to doing it. Maybe it had been the fear that he might not do it right, or the fear that someone would find out.

Either way, he had to do it this time or he might just not get around to it at all.

In front of the sofa he was lounging on was a coffee table. And on top of that table was his combat knife, neatly tucked away inside its sheath. He stared at it for a moment, contemplating whether he should actually go through with this or not. It was his choice... but there was still so much to do...

But he was so depressed, and nothing helped. He just couldn't get over Raccoon City, no matter how much he tried. Everything came back to him day in and day out, he couldn't eat or sleep. All he could do was train, and train, and train...

_There's no other way out of this._

He knew he was right. No matter how many times he thought this through it came to the same thing. The only possible route of escape he had was the one he had been contemplating so thoroughly in his head.

He gently lifted the knife and removed it from its sheath; the bright fluorescent light reflecting off the well cared for blade of the knife.

The combat knife: the survivor's last line of defense, last chance at salvation.

And this time it _would_ be his salvation.

Something about the thought of his suicide made him nervous, he would have to do it right after all, not just _right, _but _perfectly_ or he would end up causing himself to much pain. Or even worse, he would _live._

He leaned forward as he gently placed the knife against his wrist. When the time came he would have to do it hard and fast and without hesitation.

Could he do it?

Certainly.

He was about to give himself the first cut when a knock came at his door.

"Hey Kennedy, you in there??"

That rough yet cheery voice that belonged to his best friend Krauser.

Fuck.

He quickly dragged the knife across his wrist, and the sharp pain made him let out an involuntary gasp. It must have been audible enough, because Krauser's usually happy voice suddenly dropped.

"Hey you alright in there??" There was a worried undertone to his voice, one that told Leon that he would come busting into the room in a few seconds no matter what he tried to do about it.

"Leon? Leon??" He banged on the door a few times. "Hey, I know you're in there, open up!"

It a fit of panic Leon dragged the knife across his other wrist, following the vertical blue line that was his vein for a few inches. He let out a strangled cry.

It hurt so very much.

"Fuck what's going on in there?!"

Simultaneously, Leon dropped the knife and the door was thrown open. He was aware of something making a thud as it hit the floor, but didn't look over to see it.

He didn't even remember getting up, only the fear that Krauser would find out what he had done to himself.

"Lee what's going on? Who did thi-"

Leon tried to hide his wrists, but it was too late. Krauser's mid-sentence cut-off made it clear that he had seen what Leon didn't want him to see.

"What did you do?" He voice was so low it scared Leon.

"I..." He couldn't finish his sentence; the words couldn't form correctly in his mind. And then there was no warning, just the room suddenly spinning slightly before the ceiling fell away from him and everything went black.

Krauser stood there in disbelief.

_No_…

He ran to Leon quickly and examined his wrists; the one on the left was poorly done, but the one on the right was deep, and the blood was gushing out horribly fast.

_You stupid bastard... how could you?_

Krauser gently scooped Leon off of the floor, being careful not to tear the wrist gashes open even more. He then exited the room and ran down the hallways, heart pounding at the thought that he might lose his best friend to a suicide attempt… he had already lost so much in his life…

* * *

He looked at his wrists, bandages wrapped around each one. He wanted to tear them off, finish what he started. There was nothing worse than this, this is what he never wanted to happen; never wanted to see. He was supposed to die, not live. The therapy he would be forced to endure to retain his job wan unbelievable, the penalties where too much.

It was all Krauser's fault.

He had to show up at the most inopportune moment.

Leon was interrupted abruptly as the door to his room opened, and the one person he didn't want to see stepped through. Krauser took one look at him and stopped. Their eyes met for a brief second before Leon turned away, unable to face the man that had saved him.

He listened as the door made a soft click and a chair was dragged rather audibly across the floor until it rested at the side of his bed and someone rather heavily sat upon it.

He waited for Krauser to say something, waited for the explosion to start.

But it didn't. A minute must have ticked away as Leon refused to turn to face him. And then it all became too much and he turned slowly, coming _vis-à-vis_ with his best friend.

Krauser sighed lowly and leaned back, resting against the back of the chair and folding his arms. There was something in his hand.

"Why?" Was all he said; that one word sending needles through Leon, making the shame run through him unbridled.

"I don't know." He couldn't think of a reason. How could he say that it was all too much? That everything that had happened in his life thus far was too much to endure?

"You don't know?"

Leon shook his head. There was no way for him to explain the herd of reasons coursing through him without rhyme or rhythm. Everything came at him at once, all the reasons coming at him at all angles and all dimensions. His frustration overwhelmed him and his depression overtook him all at the same time.

Just as he lost himself in thought the sound of a chair being pushed backwards snapped him out of his emotions and he was aware of the aforementioned object being hurled across the room with incredible force.

"You don't know?! How can you not know?!"

He was seething.

"Krauser, it's just too much…"

"Too much what? To much shit to deal with? Do you know what _I've_ been through?!"

Actually, no he didn't.

"I lost everything, I mean _everything,_" The object in his hand turned out to be an envelope. He threw in on the bed, the object coming to rest on Leon's chest.

He gently took the envelope, baffled at what it could contain. Krauser's past was a mystery to him, at least for the most part. He knew two things: Krauser was a bit older than him, and that he did live in Raccoon City, more than likely around the time of the outbreak.

He unfolded the envelope gently, removing the pictures it held.

One was a picture of Krauser and another man, one with the same blond hair, same posture, same eyes, same _everything_…

A twin. Krauser had a twin.

A lump formed in Leon's throat. He flipped to the next picture. It was one of Krauser (Leon assumed), a pretty woman…

… and two kids.

A toddler and a baby.

The bottom dropped out of Leon's stomach. He glanced at Krauser, who's expression was stone hard. He could see something behind them though, some unmarked feeling, something so dark and painful it couldn't be expressed.

He had everything, and he lost it all.

Krauser didn't say a word, just removed his wrist bands and threw them aside, the two bands of white, non-tanned skin bearing tangled scars running in every direction; the scars on someone who had given up and tried, like Leon, to end his suffering.

"You have no idea what it's like."

And with that Krauser silently walked away and left the room, closing the door very quietly, leaving the pictures with Leon, and leaving him to ponder the gravity of what he had just happened.

FIN

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